


the hollow man

by tragakes (lejf)



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Marathon Sex, PWP, and the normal version of him does it too lol, hollow Ichigo bangs kisuke, porn with minor angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lejf/pseuds/tragakes
Summary: Rather than going to the Visored, Ichigo goes to Kisuke to control his inner hollow.Rather than having to fight them, Kisuke finds that he has to occupy Ichigo’s…instincts.





	the hollow man

Dust flies everywhere when Ichigo lands. Kisuke doesn’t _see_ so much as he _feels_ reiatsu streaming like fleeing clouds from Ichigo’s location, which lunges closer and closer in huge strides.

Even though he’s expecting it, the collision knocks the wind out of him. They go tumbling to the ground in a mess of limbs and Kisuke tries to elbow Ichigo’s shoulder into the dirt to keep him immobile. The only danger here is if Ichigo escapes from the underground training area and wreaks havoc on the outside. He’s gambled that Ichigo’s hollow instincts would want him to fight, but if that gamble’s wrong and Ichigo escapes up into the store in search of something else, Kisuke will have an issue on his hands.

Ichigo, even hollowed, won’t be able to kill _him_ , so Kisuke’s thrown himself to the metaphorical dogs to be the chew-toy for Ichigo’s fight against his inner hollow.

A release of pressure — Ichigo rolls away and rears up, eyes blown darkly gold. A mask has formed across his face, white and crowned with black. Every move of his promises power. Beneath his skin his muscles shift, flex, and then there’s a flash of movement where he tears at his own shinigami robes and exposes more expanses of sweat-slicked skin. Kisuke boggles momentarily as black shreds flutter down. Did Ichigo discover the way to beat Kisuke at some point? Show enough of his body and then Kisuke would feel too guilty about being a perv to fight?

He doesn’t figure out, because Ichigo launches himself forwards once more, and this time he’s a wall of muscle thrumming with reiatsu. Kisuke lets himself be barrelled to the ground. There’s a wash of artificial sky, black cloth, bare skin, dirt. A sudden halt in movement. The mask four inches from his face is permanently baring its teeth in a show of ferocity and steam rises from its edges. Ichigo is braced above him, two wiry arms just above Kisuke’s shoulders, legs on both sides of Kisuke’s hips. At a moment’s notice Kisuke is prepared to twist and plant both sandalled feet into Ichigo’s gut, except Ichigo doesn’t make a hostile move. 

That moment of non-movement extends. Kisuke catalogues the placement of all Ichigo’s limbs, watches carefully for any tensing muscle, but nothing comes. Kisuke feels stupid saying that he stops to stare into Ichigo’s eyes to pick out some sort of motive, but he does. It’s not everyday that he has the opportunity to look into the eyes of a hollow, black as the space between the stars and gold as the sun. Ichigo stares right back, dust settling around them, and then, very slowly, very deliberately, rolls his hips downwards. It’s a hot, distinctive move.

Kisuke sucks in a sharp breath through his own gritted teeth. Ichigo’s instinct as a hollow tells him to– _what_? Ichigo does it again, and this time it’s unmistakable. It’s as filthy as anything he’s ever felt. Both in the dirt, Ichigo thrusting against Kisuke as though he can fuck him through a layer of clothes. He can’t have imagined it. It’s hot, unyielding pressure, Ichigo pressing his power and his lithe body forwards in a promising sinuous slide.

Blood rushes down. It’s impossible for Kisuke _not_ to get hard. It’s his wet dream and guilty wish all rolled into one. Oh fuck, does this count astaking advantage? Ichigo’s not in his right mind, Ichigo’s in his _primal_ mind, Ichigo’s following his instinct. What is Kisuke even supposed to think? In his struggle he chooses not to make a choice and to lie there like he’s too weak to shove Ichigo away. He’s just a candy shopkeeper. He couldn’t possibly fight off this powerful hollow.

That weakness is absolutely what brings his hands down and unfastens his pants. Ichigo pauses as he does, as though Ichigo understands what he’s doing — should he think of it as Ichigo’s _hollow_ instead? But it takes a moment for Kisuke to bare himself because his hands are numb, though it’s not from fear of Ichigo. It’s some combination of anticipation and terror and arousal. It’s impossible to tell where one emotion ends and where the other starts. They brim inside him like a maelstrom. 

But Ichigo stays steadfast, his blackened eyes unmoving, and his presence blankets Kisuke as soon as his pants are out of the way. Ichigo keeps himself propped up with only one arm, something a normal human won’t be able to hold for long, and the other is- as Kisuke looks down between them - jerking himself wetly. The flash of Ichigo’s dick in his fist. Kisuke’s fixated. His mind crashes into the wall of _what the hell is he doing_ and _why would he want to stop_. He lies there, entranced, as Ichigo masturbates. Ichigo’s heaving breaths fill his ears and there’s steam rushing from the sides of the mask with each exhale. 

It doesn’t escape his notice that Ichigo’s tipping his dick downwards, nor that Kisuke’s bending his legs and parting them, opening them outwards and revealing himself. He relinquishes himself to Ichigo, to the head of Ichigo’s dick pressing against his tight rim. Every stroke teases entry and makes Kisuke’s hole flutter. The head of it feels like a blunt instrument, impossibly powerful, because if it pushes into him he knows his coherence will unravel. 

Just as Ichigo’s whole _body_ tenses from the edge of his toes to his abs indrawn and his thighs flexing and shoulders drawing up, that thick cock of his is shoved just inside the rim of Kisuke’s entrance. Then Ichigo is coming, filling Kisuke with his come; it’s so warm and wet and Kisuke clenches down on it to keep it in, feeling the squirts paint his insides, giving a helpless little moan. And somehow Ichigo is still hard, and he’s started fucking Kisuke in earnest now that Kisuke’s slickened up. He plunges his cock inside, no hesitation. Kisuke has half a mind to complain, except he doesn’t speak when there’s no show to give, Ichigo’s somewhere deep inside his own mind right now and won’t be able to hear him, and it feels too good to be saying anything.

Ichigo grabs his shoulders, pins him down, and Kisuke can’t make up his mind where to put his hands through his pleasure. He grabs Ichigo’s arms, then buries his hands in Ichigo’s mass of hair, then tries to clutch his back. Then the black markings all down his skin that Kisuke can’t stop looking at. They ripple over his skin obscenely bold with every movement like he’s got some force of nature stored inside. Finally Ichigo must have enough of Kisuke’s roaming hands because on one particularly hard thrust that has Kisuke crying out and scrunching his eyes shut, something thick and prehensile wraps around his wrists and pin them above his head. It’s a _tail_ , a black patterned tail, and all Kisuke — wide-eyed — can think about is how he’s being fucked by Ichigo, Ichigo’s got his dick inside him, Ichigo’s filling him up and then drawing out, thrusting into him again and again. 

Even after Kisuke comes and starts whimpering from oversensitivity, Ichigo doesn’t let up. Instead, he pushes Kisuke back further, putting his legs over his shoulders until Kisuke’s bent in half. It makes him feel breakable. He knows one day Ichigo will be stronger than him, that Ichigo will be the strongest damn person in the world, and that thought makes him quiver at the height of arousal again. Kisuke’s a mess. His hat’s fallen somewhere and he’s panting and he keeps trying to spread his legs wider and his own dick’s bobbing between them, and his hole is clenching rhythmically even though it’s beginning to feel sore but he’s never felt so good in his life. 

He’s turned and fucked on his hands and knees, and when that happens he arches his back and Ichigo spreads him wide around his cock until both of them come. Then he’s flipped over again and Ichigo pushes his dick into Kisuke’s mouth, thick and musky, and while Kisuke’s trying his best, running his tongue up the underside of Ichigo’s dick and twisting around the head, another pressure at his hole makes his jerk — and the pressure doesn’t stop. Something thin and tapered presses in, and it gets thicker and thicker until (that’s Ichigo’s damn _tail_ ) it’s pumping into him and fucking him hard enough to moan around Ichigo’s cock. Its texture is different, it reaches further in, strikes his prostate with careful precision. He feels like an animal, or like he’s letting an animal fuck him. It turns him on impossibly that he’s being reamed from both ends.

He loses count of how many times he and Ichigo come. All he knows is that his hole is lose and open but that he doesn’t want it to stop, that Ichigo’s inhuman strength means that Kisuke can be hoisted up and slid down straight onto Ichigo’s waiting dick, impaled there, head tipped back in a moan as he’s bounced up and down. He doesn’t want to leave. He wishes Ichigo was like this in the waking world. That he’d pull Kisuke aside and use all that power of his to pin him against the wall and fuck him wanton until he’s got come crusted all over his white thighs and dripping out his hole.

He comes and comes and his body’s a live wire. And he passes out.

*

Zangetsu leads Ichigo a damn difficult fight in his mind, leaves him with ominous words, and when Ichigo comes to, he’s aware that he’s in the dirt somewhere, sitting upright. His fuzzy senses tell him that he’s underneath the store, but it won’t be the first time that Zangetsu’s fooled Ichigo’s senses. There’s also something warm in Ichigo’s lap, something that Ichigo’s got his arms wrapped around, something radiating heat and pleasure because there’s also a soft heat wrapped around Ichigo’s dick–

What? 

He tries to shake off the lingering mist in his mind. Ichigo twitches his hips, half out of disbelief and half out of instinctive reaction, and the body in his arms gives a breathy moan as Ichigo’s cock shifts inside them. Honestly Ichigo’s hard-pressed not to moan himself, because somehow that sound sends fires licking up in him, and the tight heat around him is more than exquisite. It’s still fluttering, clenching around him, a perfect cascade of pressure and pleasure. Ichigo leans forward, burying his nose into the back of a neck and curtain of hair. He mouths at the shell of an ear. Whoever’s in his arms smells like lotus flowers formed of crystal honey. While there’s an undeniable air of musk and dirt and sweat and primal sex, it’s eclipsed by that blurry sweetness in the shape of filthy fucking and come all mixed with the bloom of a blush along the curve of a tender spine and pale spread thighs.

When did Ichigo become such a romantic? What the hell’s wrong with him? He still can’t tell if this is even real. Then he opens his eyes. 

Oh. 

Oh, _no_. That hair. That exposed shoulder and back. It’s unmistakable. “Urahara?” His voice is hoarse and unfamiliar, even to his own ears. 

“Not me,” replies _definitely Urahara_. His voice is a little scratched out. He sounds like- oh, fuck, he sounds like Ichigo’s definitely fucked his throat at some point. 

“Yeah right.”

“Hey, shouldn’t you be calling me Kisuke at this point?”

It’s definitely that sarcastic shit of a shopkeeper. 

Urahara — Kisuke — squirms in his lap, and again Ichigo thrusts upwards and into him. Kisuke gives an exaggerated moan that’s entirely contrived and way too much falsetto. It turns Ichigo off almost immediately.

“Okay,” he says, defeated. “I don’t know _how_ this mess happened and I’m sorry, but you don’t have keep this up anymore.”

“Are you saying I’m not good enough for you?” Ichigo swears he can hear the crappy little heart and exaggerated pout tacked on the end. 

“I’m saying–“ he plants a hand against Kisuke’s back, toned and warm and still slick with sweat and his dick definitely does _not_ give an interested twitch inside because of that, “–get _off_.”

Although he pushes, Kisuke digs in and refuses to _remove himself from Ichigo’s dick_. It’d be hot if it weren’t irritating because Ichigo doesn’t want to fuck a faking-it squealing Kisuke, which is honestly really damn weird. Actually– it’s still kind of hot, and that annoys Ichigo further. Look, he’s a teenage boy. He can’t control his libido. It just sort of happens. It doesn’t help that he kind of wants to fuck Kisuke all the time anyway, and seeing him naked like this and literally pressed against Ichigo is really tempting. When he looks down he can see Kisuke’s rim is stretched around his dick, flushed red and spread wide with come leaking around the edges.

Even if they never talk about it again, Ichigo will probably jack off to this for like, decades to come. Knowing Kisuke, he’ll probably mock Ichigo about it. Whatever. Ichigo’ll jack off to it anyway. He’s not a saint.

“I’ll get off,” Kisuke says, “once you get me off.”

“What is _wrong_ with you,” Ichigo replies, half to himself. And then, as though it’s some sort of great labour for him, “Fine, okay.”

He pulls Kisuke back tight against him, his chest rubbing against the toned planes of Kisuke’s back, plants his feet on both sides of Kisuke’s legs and thrusts up, _hard_ , powered by frustrated arousal. The noise Kisuke makes this time sounds ripped-out, and this time it’s definitely not fake. It’s this half-whimper sort of thing that gets Ichigo so hard that it makes him breathless. Holy shit. Who knew Kisuke could be like this. 

Ichigo puts his full effort into screwing Kisuke senseless. He gropes Kisuke’s chest and pinches his small little nipples as he basically plunges Kisuke open. His come from previous rounds slicks his cock and paints his thighs and draws attention to Kisuke’s tight and round ass that Ichigo’s plundering. He’s never really looked at Kisuke’s ass before, and next he knows, he’s pushing Kisuke down to the ground and riding him instead, rocking his hips forward and sinking into that amazing heat. Kisuke keeps his head down, but there’s a blush rising all the way to his ears that makes Ichigo feel impossibly smug. His sweat’s running down his torso but he doesn’t notice it because the cling of Kisuke’s rim around his dick is much more important. 

He’s making Urahara Kisuke _whimper_. Shit. It’s heady. He spreads Kisuke’s cheeks open with his thumbs, savouring in it and drawing out slowly, watching the small hole part around the head of his dick. He holds it there, just eager to watch the rim flutter and squeeze. It’s trying to draw him back inside. It wants him to fill him up again. “Hey-“ he hears Kisuke say, “I hope you’re not taking the scenic route-“

Ichigo pushes back into that supple ass, as deep as he can, and Kisuke bites off his complaint. 

Suddenly Ichigo burns with curiosity, because he can feel Kisuke tensing up around him, on the edge of coming; he turns Kisuke over, and– he’s never seen a face like that. The shopkeeper who trains him and who’s generally crazily eccentric all the time and gets kinda scary when he’s serious is flushed the loveliest pink all the way down to his chest. The look in his eyes is absurdly lewd: he’s staring up at Ichigo like he’s hallowed figure, like he’s clinging onto the brink and that Ichigo’s the only lead forwards, like he’s vulnerable, as vulnerable as the swell of an exposed thigh, slightly curled shoulders, a panting breath. Blush.

His mouth — that usually runs the mill and drives everyone nuts — is parted and wet and red like suckled candy. Ichigo leans forward. Devours him. Then it’s wet and messy as they tangle tongues and Ichigo’s fucking him because it’s the last damn chance to, and when Kisuke comes untouched between them, only a short rope because he’s all wrung out, Ichigo spurts somewhere deep inside him in a moment of complete possession that he gasps into Kisuke’s lips. 

The aftermath seems inconsequential after that. While Ichigo tries to gather a semblance of decency, Kisuke doesn’t get to his feet. He just raises a leg to hide his softening cock but it doesn’t conceal the dribble of come from inside him that leaks into the dirt. One of his hands covers his eyes, and he lies there on his back.

Ichigo’s stomach is a mess of guilt and something else, though he’s pretty sure that he’ll really screw things up if he opens his mouth. He runs his hand through his hair in despair and, just for something to do, goes to fetch Kisuke’s hat that’s lying on the ground somewhere in the distance. Now that he’s come for the last time, the reality of the situation is starting to sink in. He fucked Kisuke. He fucked _Urahara Kisuke_. Not once, but several times. Surely there have to be repercussions for that, right? Kisuke used to be some insane things… and he’s _still_ someone incredibly important and powerful. But if he’s powerful, then he _let_ Ichigo? What’s Ichigo supposed to think of that? 

He drops the hat into Kisuke’s free hand, and through two of Kisuke’s fingers an eye cracks open to regard him. The hat comes back on, and then, as though it’s imbued him with a mystical personality change, Kisuke sits upright with all the speed of a jack-in-the-box. “Okay!” he beams. Ichigo is, frankly, disturbed. “You’ve conquered your hollow. Congratulations! We’ll train more so that you can hold the transformation for longer periods of time.”

“Are we seriously not gonna talk about this?” Ichigo gestures to– well, Kisuke’s nudity. 

It’s hard to see Kisuke’s eyes beneath the hat, and Ichigo’s pretty sure that’s what gives the shopkeeper the boldness to be eccentric. “I can’t stand up, Ichigo,” Kisuke says with all solemnity. “I’m really sore.”

Ichigo’s halfway to picking Kisuke up to take him to those healing springs when Kisuke laughs. 

“I’m joking, I’m joking! How fragile do you think I am?”

There are no words for Ichigo’s speechlessness. On a subconscious level he recognises the attempts at deflection. “We’re gonna talk about this at some point.”

“Yeah yeah,” Kisuke says, waving a hand. “But not now. Do you think you could leave?”

Ichigo hesitates a heartbeat. The question stings a little. “I don’t think–“

“I’ve gotta clean myself out. You won’t believe how messy that is,” Kisuke stage-whispers.

Ichigo’s concerned looks linger on Kisuke’s skin, and Kisuke doesn't even wait for him to be gone before he lets himself fall back. His ass really _is_ sore. It wasn’t a lie. He hasn’t been with anyone since… how long? Decades, probably.

Kisuke stares into the artificial sky blankly.

Ah, he’s really done it now. He’s doomed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> might write sequel. not sure.


End file.
